


Cheesy

by sirconnie



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Bethany and Carver Hawke Live, Between Acts II and III, Black Character(s), F/F, Female Character of Color, Hawke is Good at Feelings, Isabela is Not, Post Act II, they have sex at least twice but it's a fade to black
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-19 01:48:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9412049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirconnie/pseuds/sirconnie
Summary: A year after Hawke nearly died at the hands of the Arishok, Isabela is wracked with guilt and indignation. She goes to face Hawke and refuses to be forgiven.





	

**Author's Note:**

> because my femshep/miranda fic is taking forever to get to the juicy stuff I will soothe myself with some good ol' femhawkebela because i've never posted fic of these two??? somehow???? i think about them constantly how have i not flooded u all with my tears
> 
> this fic doesn't mean that what happened with hawke and fenris meant nothing. or that _their_ story is over. this is just bela's part. hope you like it! please excuse any typos

Varric said she'd come back. She hadn’t asked, but he’d just dropped it in the conversation as casually as anything, as if Isabela hadn’t been circling the Free Marches for the past month and would have any idea otherwise. The bastard.

Hawke has been gone for a year. A whole year wherein Merrill walked on eggshells around Isabela and Aveline barely gave her a glance, even if Isabela could see the anger and blame barely being held back by her permanently clenching jaw. Fenris was off doing his own thing - he’d probably been feeling guilty himself for suggesting Hawke duel the Arishok. It’s almost as much his fault as hers that Hawke had a giant sword thrust through her. Anders only smugly harped on about this ridiculous _heart of gold_ he’s so sure she has and she’d outright avoided Sebastian. He’s already told her how _brave_ she was to come back to face the Arishok. Oh, yes, very impressive the way she’d stood back and let Hawke fight a ten-foot tall behemoth in her stead. _She_ should be the one with the fancy title.

Varric was the worst of them all. He’d gone on as if nothing had happened, inviting her for drinks and idly mentioning Hawke every once in a while, but never about her nearly dying at the hands of the Arishok because of Isabela’s actions. There was never an accusation or even a hint of blame in anything he’d said and it aggravated Isabela more than anything. She’d asked him about it once, when his easy avoidance of the elephant in the room had been too much to take.

“It’s not my place to get mad, Rivaini,” he said easily, leaning back and sloshing his drink around in its bottle. “Besides, I think you’re doing enough of that yourself. No point in me piling on.”

“If only Aveline had that attitude,” she muttered, remembering the woman’s cold glance when they’d crossed paths the day before. Isabela didn’t stay and catch up, understandably.

“Ah, she’s just being angry for Hawke’s sake. She knows Hawke will forgive you, so she’s punishing you for her.”

"Hawke won’t forgive me,” Isabela gritted out, her hand clenching around her own lukewarm bottle. “She wouldn’t.”

Varric only smirked at her in his Varric way and shrugged. “Who can say? If I were you, I’d go and ask.” 

“Right, I’ll just scour all of Ferelden and find her. Maybe I’ll yell something about a sad dog, _that’ll_ send her running.”

“That could work. _Or_ you could just go over to her house, since she’s back and all.” Isabela started, whipping her head towards him. He only blinked at her, innocent as can be. “Oh, you didn’t know?”

And now she finds herself marching to that gaudy estate the way she’s done so many times before for a variety of reasons - a quick fuck being a common one. She hadn’t had the opportunity for that in a long time, though, what with Hawke being unconscious for a while before going off with that brother of hers. Isabela figures he’s gotten less prickly now or else Hawke wouldn’t have willingly been around him for this long.

She considers using the front door before thinking better of it and going her usual route. She scales up the wall swiftly, the vines lining it old, but strong enough to support even her hefty frame. She makes it to Hawke’s bedroom window and guesses correctly that it’s unlocked, like it always is. The woman can be so careless sometimes. She slinks inside, landing cleanly on the carpeted floor when a figure jolts from the other end of the room.

Hawke’s giant dog bounds into view, teeth bared and growling at her and she backs away with a grimace - the beast has somehow gotten bigger since the last time she’d seen it. The dog glares at her before relaxing, seeming to recognize her. It starts panting loudly and trotting to her, presenting its head for a petting. Isabela begrudgingly does so and the animal’s tail flaps about like it’s getting a gift.

She sighs, smiling despite herself and crouching in front of the dog to give it a proper scratching. She rarely gives it the kind of attention it wants, evidenced by the dog’s delighted bark as it nuzzles at her hands and presses for more. Isabela has gotten rather fond of the big, ugly thing after all the times she’d sneaked into Hawke’s room when she was recovering - something only she and the dog know. The smelly old girl must have gotten used to her showing up practically every night.

Once she’s done doting on the dog, she looks about the room - empty, but the fire’s roaring in the hearth, so Hawke is probably about to spend some time in here. Nothing to do but wait, then. She shuffles uncomfortably on her feet for a moment before going to sit on the bench at the foot of the bed. The dog scampers to her and settles at her feet, resting its head on her thigh and peering up at her with those little eyes. She doesn’t have the heart to push it off like she usually does and just pats its rough head lazily.

Isabela sits and waits, but Hawke doesn’t show up. The longer it takes, the more antsy she gets, shifting in her seat and disturbing the dog enough for it to hop onto the bench next to her and go to the bed. It lies down by Isabela’s arm and waits with her, staring at the door with its paws under its chin. Looks like she’s not the only one getting impatient.

She might be the only one considering leaving, though. She knows why she’s here - she needs to see how Hawke is for herself. Needs to yell at her for doing something as reckless as fighting a damned Qunari for her. She has every right to berate Hawke for almost dying and she’s set on it.

So, why is she so nervous? Why is she practically vibrating at the idea of seeing Hawke again after so long? Maybe it’s because she knows how everyone in their little group feels about what happened except for Hawke. Varric and Aveline seem to think she’ll forgive Isabela like she always has.

No. Isabela refuses to accept that. If she catches anything less than blame come out of Hawke’s mouth, she’ll throttle her, honestly. That woman had better not do anything less than cut her off completely or else Isabela will completely lose it. The very idea of it makes Isabela’s blood boil and she taps her boot on the floor in irritation.

“I’ll look into it tomorrow.”

Isabela stills when she hears a familiar voice coming from just outside the room. The door muffles it slightly, but there’s no mistaking it. The dog jumps to its feet and bounds off the bed, practically trampling Isabela on the way to the door. It bounces eagerly, eyes on the door knob, while Isabela forces herself to calm down and sit more casually.

“Could you see if you can find that letter for me? I could’ve sworn I left it near the desk.” The reply is too far away for Isabela to hear. “Thank you. Good night!” Isabela only jumps a little when the door clicks open and the dog immediately barks and shoves its way through.

“Down, Kiki! You silly puppy,” Hawke puts on that high voice she always uses with the dog and Isabela can see its tail wagging furiously from here. “You’re a good puppy, aren’t you? Pretty, pretty girl.”

The door opens further and Hawke steps in, her dog eagerly following. She’s grinning down at it and cooing before she freezes, her hand whipping to her back reflexively as she raises her eyes to look at her intruder. Isabela waits for the recognition to dawn on her the same way it did on her dog - they’re so much alike sometimes - and it does, her whole frame relaxing and her face going from threatening to surprised all at once. She lowers her arm, even if there was nothing to grab back there, anyway. She’s already changed into her home clothes and is very noticeably without her staff.

“You should really have a weapon in here,” Isabela says idly, leaning back against the bed. “The next person who breaks into your room won’t be nearly as pretty.” Hawke doesn’t react, only keeps gawking at her while the dog whines near her hand. She scratches at its scalp automatically with her eyes still trained on Isabela.

“So. You’re home.” Isabela gives her a lazy smile.

Hawke blinks and shuts the door behind her. “So are you.”

“How long have you been back?”

“Not long. A week.”

“Ah.”

“You?”

“Three days.”

“Oh.”

The room is silent again, save for the dog’s panting and the crackling fire. Isabela takes the time to look her over - she’s standing without help. Doesn’t look in pain or anything. She looks much better than she did before, when she was lying on her bed, looking drawn and smaller than Isabela’s ever seen her. Her cheeks still look a little sunken, but there’s a healthy glow to her that wasn’t there before. Ferelden must’ve done her a lot of good.

Her hair is the only thing that looks unusual - her long, brown waves have been chopped off so clumsily, it’s growing out all uneven. Long and short strands surround her angular face messily, Isabela has no idea what could’ve happened for it to end up like that. She almost asks before Hawke takes a careful step forward and looks at her with those big, ridiculous eyes.

“Isabela,” she breathes in a voice so horribly gentle it makes Isabela twitch. She goes to her feet sharply because she _refuses_ to hear her talk like that, not after everything that’s happened.

“You shouldn’t have done it,” she says, glaring at Hawke. “It was stupid of you to fight the Arishok and you know it.” Hawke looks confused and it only annoys her more. “What the fuck were you thinking? You could’ve just handed me over to them and ended it right there!" 

“No, I couldn’t,” Hawke says lowly, meeting her gaze. “They would’ve hurt you.”

Isabela scoffs. “I’d have escaped.”

“Maybe. I still wouldn’t’ve done it,” she says with so much certainty that Isabela clenches her fists. “I made the right choice, Isabela.”

“No, you didn’t,” Isabela snaps, practically baring her teeth. “Neither did I. I shouldn’t have come back.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“ _Yes_ , I do.” Isabela takes a single step forward, scowling at Hawke, who only meets her fury calmly. “I had the relic, I should’ve kept running.”

“You did the right thing.” Hawke takes her own step towards her, though her movements are decidedly less hostile. “And I couldn’t have saved Kirkwall without you.”

“Bullshit. You and Aveline could’ve stormed the Keep and slaughtered all those Qunari if you had to.” Hawke looks away, but they both know she’s right. No matter how much the other woman hates violence and tries to find a peaceful solution, the Arishok wouldn’t have gone for it. There would’ve been bodies strewn all over that throne room regardless.

“The fact is, you and I have nothing in common anymore,” Isabela goes on, taking measured steps toward Hawke, her voice getting tighter with every word. “You’re a hero and I’m just a lying, thieving snake.”

Hawke looks at her then and the pain in her eyes is too much for her to take. She opens her mouth to argue, most likely, but Isabela raises a hand before she can.

“Don’t. We both know that _this_ \--” Isabela gestures between them--“was a mistake. You never should’ve bothered with me.”

“Isabela--”

“ _Damn it_ , Hawke, don’t you _get_ it?” she practically yells, making the dog tense and growl at her. Hawke quickly calms it and takes it out of the room before it has a chance to attack Isabela with all of its two hundred pounds and razor-sharp teeth. Once Hawke shuts the door again, she’s had enough time to get herself together and speaks more calmly.

“ _I’m_ the reason you had to deal with the Qunari,” she says, every word firm and without question. “ _I’m_ why that Arishok practically set the city on fire looking for his relic and _don’t_ tell me about Mother Patrice.” She interrupts Hawke before she can start. “She might have escalated it, but they wouldn’t have even been here if it wasn’t for me.”

Hawke’s mouth snaps shut and she only gives Isabela that same hurt look. Isabela goes on anyway, ready to get all this out and _finally_ convince her that she’s no good, that she’s nothing but trouble.

“If I wasn’t around, you wouldn’t have had to fight for me.” Her voice is losing its edge now and she can’t seem to get it back. “You wouldn’t have almost-- _fuck_ , Hawke, do you have any _idea_ how it felt to watch you fight that beast? To see him _ram a sword through you_ like it was nothing?” She’s shaking now and no amount of fist clenching is helping her calm down. Hawke seems to notice from the way her gaze softens and that isn’t helping at all.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she says, and that just about does it. Isabela groans loudly and throws her hands up.

“I knew it, I _knew_ you’d say that,” she says, almost laughing. “But it’s bullshit, because this is _all_ my fault and you’d _better_ not forgive me.” She points a furious finger in Hawke’s face, eyes blazing. “Maker help me, Hawke, I’ll kill you myself if you do.”

Hawke is unruffled by her threat. She raises her hand and tries to close it around Isabela’s, but she wrenches it away before she can.

“Don’t you dare,” Isabela bites out. She can’t take that, not now. “You’re supposed to be angry.”

Hawke is quiet as she stares back at her. Soon, she nods. “I _am_ angry.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

Isabela presses her lips together, not entirely satisfied, but less annoyed, somehow. She brings her hands up and only hesitates for a moment before coming in contact with the front of Hawke’s robes. Hawke doesn’t move, only looks at her as she grabs on to her.

“Don’t forgive me,” Isabela says, almost desperate as her fingers gradually hold tighter.

Hawke still doesn’t touch her. “Never.”

“Say you hate me,” Isabela breathes, definitely desperate now.

Hawke’s eyes soften further, even as she says, “I hate you.” She leans in slowly, watching Isabela’s face as she does. When Isabela doesn’t move to stop her she presses her lips to her cheek, a barely there kiss that makes Isabela’s grip tighten further.

“I hate your voice,” Hawke murmurs as she kisses her throat. Isabela shivers and her hands slide to Hawke’s waist.

“I hate your eyes.” Hawke takes her face in her hands so, so gently and presses another kiss to her brow.

“I hate your lips.” She kisses the corner of Isabela’s mouth before Isabela moves her head and meets her. Neither of them take it any further, only breathe against each other. Isabela’s heart is thundering in her ears and she almost doesn’t hear Hawke’s voice when she pulls away, her lips still brushing Isabela’s.  

“I hate you so much.”

Isabela feels a clenching in her chest so intense it makes her breathless. She wants to say something, something to break the mood and keep from suffocating. She will not fall into Hawke’s arms like a swooning damsel. She doesn’t deserve what she’s offering, she needs to back away, she needs to leave _now_.

But she can’t move. And Hawke’s just standing there, waiting. The warmth in her eyes isn’t nearly as horrifying as the swooping, swaying feeling in her stomach, and she can’t move. Hawke’s gaze flicks down to Isabela’s mouth for the briefest half-second and something breaks in her. Isabela lets out an angry, shaking sound before she moves in and kisses her hard, practically cutting both their lips open with her teeth.

Hawke is ready for her, lips moving against hers with a practiced ease that’s in stark contrast with the clumsiness of their first kiss years ago. Isabela’s arms go around her waist more tightly, her hands grabbing at the fabric at her back as they kiss and kiss, Hawke’s broad hands still on her face and making her knees weak.

Isabela chooses that moment to walk backwards, pulling her along with her until the back of her knees hit the bench. Hawke seems to read her mind and bends to grab at her thighs, catching her when she jumps and lifting her easily. They’ve done this so many times, Hawke doesn’t have to stop kissing her to walk around to the side of the bed and drop them both on top of it, Isabela’s thighs locked around her hips as she lies on top of her.

It isn’t harried or rough the way it usually is. Isabela turns them over like she always does, but she doesn’t tease. Clothes are taken off promptly, but not hastily. Isabela takes care to press her mouth to every part of Hawke’s skin, only hesitating when she gets to the huge scar marring her stomach - a pale, jagged line against brown skin that makes her pause. She kisses it anyway, tenderly, reverently. It’s as close to an apology as she’s ever going to give and she thinks Hawke knows it from the way she sighs and strokes at Isabela’s hair.

There’s no teasing, no games. Isabela doesn’t whisper inappropriate jokes or tell Hawke to beg for it this time. They’re falling off that carefully constructed border she had always firmly kept them on one side of. She doesn’t hold Hawke’s hands down when she strokes her head for too long, doesn’t cut off her constant endearments with deep kisses. She doesn’t turn away when Hawke gives her that _look_ again, the one that makes her feel simultaneously giant and tiny.

Hawke’s looking at her like that right now, feelings as naked as the rest of her. Isabela stops to press a long, lingering kiss to her forehead, destroying the boundary line without a second thought.

 

* * *

 

“I _was_ angry, you know.”

Isabela opens her eyes at Hawke’s quiet voice and tilts her head up to face her. Hawke doesn’t meet her glance, just keeps twisting Isabela’s hair around her fingers.

“When you left with the Tome of Koslun,” she goes on. “I was furious with you. I’d never been that disappointed in someone besides myself before. It was strange.”

Isabela sighs. “Good.”

“Why is that good?” Hawke finally looks at her, her eyes clear and no longer in a post-orgasmic haze. “Why do you want me to hate you?”

“It’s not--” Isabela clicks her tongue and wriggles out of Hawke’s embrace to sit up. “You always do this. You let things go, let _people_ go, when you should give them what they deserve.”

Hawke stares up at her, face just on the side of wondering. Isabela reaches out and brushes a wayward tuft of hair off her forehead before she can think not to, her hand lingering on her for for just a second too long.

“You’re too kind,” she breathes, wishing she could sound more exasperated. “You keep giving like this, you’re not going to have anything left.”

Hawke grabs her hand as she starts to pull away and brings it to her lips. Isabela can feel her breath on her palm when she says, “People keep saying that.”

“Oh?”

Hawke sits up, still holding her hand. “Carver gave me the same talk. He was rougher about it, but the message was the same.”

“Clever boy.”

“Hmm. I think I was going to kill you.” Isabela’s eyebrows shoot up and Hawke only nods. “I was really mad. I thought that if I made it out of this, if I survived the Qunari invasion, I’d go find you.”

“Huh.”

“I don’t know if I would’ve done it.” Hawke traces the lines on her palm with her finger, looking down at it thoughtfully. “I want to say I wouldn’t. But I don’t know. I was a different person after...after what happened.”

After her mother was killed. After she burned down the warehouse that mage killed her in, according to Merrill. Hawke _had_ been different - she’d started distancing herself from everyone and whenever anyone _did_ run into her, she was almost always drunk. Isabela had nearly fallen out of her chair when she’d heard that Hawke had been _arrested_ , and for breaking into the Gallows, no less. Hawke was self-destructing and no one was able to stop it.

“I’m better now, though,” Hawke says, still playing with her hand. “Who knew all it took to get some perspective is a Qunari broadsword through your stomach?”

Isabela barely manages not to wince. “That’s not funny.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Isabela scoffs and pulls her hand away. “What in the world could _you_ be apologizing for?”

“I scared you.” Hawke leans back on her hands and still doesn’t look at her. “I don’t regret fighting the Arishok. I just wish it wasn’t so hard to watch.”

“You shouldn’t have done it.”

“I disagree.”

“For the love of--” Isabela turns to glare at her. “You still don’t get it. It wasn’t worth it, none of it was.” Hawke finally faces her, her expression so blasted patient, it’s making her angrier.

“One of these days, you’re going to get yourself killed because of that stupid, bleeding heart and I’m not going to be there to see it. I _can’t_ \--” Her voice cracks and she clenches her jaw, her eyes downcast. Her hands ball into fists around the blanket pooling around her thighs and she can’t look up, not even when Hawke moves toward her. Not even when she feels her hand on her cheek, gently guiding her face up again. Her gaze stays lowered as her vision slowly blurs, her lower eyelids starting to tickle in that horrible way they haven’t in years. She’s not quite crying, but she’s dangerously close, and it’s almost dizzying.

“Bela,” Hawke whispers and it shakes something inside her. She closes her eyes and knows all at once that she’s not going to win this one. She breathes in and out, trying to steady herself as best as she can before speaking.

“I’m not worth dying for,” she finally says, eyes still closed and voice barely above a breath. Hawke doesn’t respond for a long moment and Isabela wonders if she hadn’t heard her.

“Maybe not,” Hawke murmurs, voice just as low and warm breath ghosting over Isabela’s mouth. “But you _are_ worth fighting for.” Isabela chokes out a stuttering laugh despite herself. “Too cheesy?”

“Horridly so.” She opens her eyes just a little and finds Hawke smiling that lethal smile, the one that’s too sweet, too fond, too much. It makes her melt in a way she rarely ever allows, especially with Hawke right there to witness it. She doesn’t want to, but she knows she’s smiling back. It’s sickening, but she’ll worry about that later, when her heart isn’t about to burst.

“Don’t ever do that again,” she says, voice firm. She isn’t talking about the cheesy lines anymore. Hawke exhales quietly and Isabela knows she knows. She moves in those last few centimeters and presses their foreheads together. She closes her eyes and Isabela does the same, knowing she could steal a kiss if she moves her head just so, but resists the urge. She’s glad she did when Hawke finally speaks.  

“Don’t leave again.” Isabela lets out her own breath and nods, keeps nodding until she catches Hawke’s lips.

Hawke’s hands are on her back when they’re tangled in the sheets again, her strong arms encircling her in a way that would’ve once felt constricting rather than welcoming. Her too-soft gaze isn’t smothering her anymore, and Isabela can only reflect the same. She’s completely incapable of doing anything else when it comes to Hawke, she knows that now. Knows it like she knows where to find the best hat shop in Hightown, how to stab a man in the throat before he knows she’s there, and where to press her lips to get Hawke to make that high, breathy sound again. She feels it in her bones as surely as she feels Hawke’s hands in her hair, gentle and undemanding, her body opening for her like home.

Isabela can’t let her go. She has no right to bask in Hawke for as long as she has, but then, it’s not the first time she’s been selfish. So long as Hawke keeps wanting her, she’ll stay. Hopefully one day, Hawke will see what kind of stupid mistake she’s making in keeping her around. Until then, Isabela isn’t going anywhere. That way, at least, she can make sure the only one who gets to stab Hawke with anything will be her.

That’s terrible. She can’t tell Hawke that one, she’ll be too pleased to be rubbing off on her.

Oh, _that’s_ good.

 

**Author's Note:**

> my girls!!! in love!!!!! it's complicated but warm!!!! im so tired. i'll try to post more about my Perrie Hawke and her misadventures in love and getting stabbed.
> 
> thanks so much for reading. please leave a comment if you liked it!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Cheesy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14787945) by [pandamonium](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pandamonium/pseuds/pandamonium)




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